


if we’re gonna do anything (we might as well just fuck)

by Pinkmanite



Series: all we seem to do is talk about (sex) [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Mild D/S elements, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sibling Incest, Threesome, Unsafe Sex, or rather Facetime Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 12:28:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12984087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/pseuds/Pinkmanite
Summary: So maybe Dylan's stuck in a hotel bathroom in Chicago, but Ryan and Matty most certainly aren't.





	if we’re gonna do anything (we might as well just fuck)

**Author's Note:**

> \- December 10, 2017: Hamilton won at Mississauga and the Oilers played the Leafs, so both Ryan and Matt were in town. Plus Matt posted that insta story of Ryan, so now here we are!  
> \- Self-edited but un-beta'd  
> \- De-anon'ed on 12/31/17  
> \- [There's a sequel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14484921)! 4/30/18

 

 ****Matty’s phone buzzes obnoxiously in the middle of his first bite of his celebratory burger. He glares at it, taking maybe a little too much satisfaction in watching it die out as he chews.

Ryan, however, is giving him the judgiest look ever. Matty looks right back, taking another bite because he’s badass like that.

“You gonna get that?” Ryan nods at the phone, forking at his pasta with his napkin in his lap and everything. What a jerk-off, it’s not even dinner service yet.

“Nah,” Matty says with his mouth still full, to which Ryan rolls his eyes. “It’s just Ryan.”

“How do you know? You didn’t even look at it.”

Matty flips it over and slides it across the table without even checking. Ryan taps it suspiciously, but lo and behold, it’s most definitely a missed call and a voicemail from Ryan McLeod. Ryan (as in Big Brother Ryan) sighs, exhausted.

“Cheer up, bro,” Matty says around his beer. It’s totally on purpose, the way he’s shoving his celebratory beer in Ryan’s face before his game. “I won my game, so no bad vibes allowed!” Matty raises his glass smugly.

That’s when Matty’s phone goes off again, this time just one short buzz. It’s a text from Mikey; _yo loser, drinks 2nite?_

“Might wanna remind him who won,” Ryan says sarcastically, shoveling his pasta a little less politely down his throat. He regretfully washes it down with just-water-with-a-lemon-please.

Matty shrugs, nodding helplessly at his own hands, which are covered in runny condiments that have dribbled out of his burger. “Hey big bro, wanna lend me a hand?”

Without objection, Ryan grabs Matty’s phone and holds down the message until the reply window pops up. “What do you want, a ‘thumbs up’ okay?”

“Um _no,_ ” Matty gives him a weird look. “I’m busy tonight, remember?”

Ryan gives him a surprised look. “Oh. You’re still on for that?”

“Of course, Ry,” Matty says, like it should be obvious. Because, really, it is. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Oh really?” Ryan says a little lower, smirking in a ways that’s so very Ryan.

Matty sighs but he’s smiling, fond. He uses his toe to nudge Ryan’s shin under the table. “Duh, asshole. I _missed_ you.”

In almost perfect timing, both Matty’s and Ryan’s phones buzz at the same time. Mid-sip Ryan raises a brow quizzically while Matty looks between him and his phone meaningfully. His hands are still full.

“It’s either Mom or--”

“It’s Dyl,” Ryan finishes for him, already dropping his fork the snatch up his phone.

“ _Nice game, Matts_ ,” Ryan reads out for him, reaching over the table to dab his napkin at the ketchup smeared on Matty’s chin. “ _House of Strome hattie tonight, yeah?_ ”

“Well fuck,” Matty pouts, “he jinxed it! Tell him he jinxed it and that he’s an asshole.”

“Got it,” Ryan laughs, lowering his phone. When Matty cranes his neck to look, he discovers Ryan flipping through snapchat filters overlaying a video of Matty just seconds ago.

“You’re an asshole, too,” Matty huffs. “I come from a family of actual assholes.”

Ryan glances up at him, wiggling his eyebrows, amused. “You sure do, little asshole. And you fucking love your assholes.”

Taking a deep breath, Matty sets his burger down and takes a good, long swig of his beer. “Have I ever told you that I really, really hate you.”

Ryan just laughs.

“Yeah yeah, you brat. I love you, too.”

 

~

 

Matty drops Ryan off at the ACC and doesn’t see him again until warm-ups.

Ryan definitely sees him on the glass but deliberately ignores him, despite Matty’s insistent tapping and yelling. All Matty wants is a good shot for his goddamn instagram story, jeez Ryan. Eventually, the clock dwindles down and it’s now or never so Matty settles for a jersey pic.

And if he privately thinks Ryan’s ass looks nice?

Well. No one else needs to know.

It’s that moment, when Matty’s already chosen a filter and is going through the sticker menu, that Ryan finally decides to turn around. His stupid little smirk is annoying. His dumb little wink even more.

Okay, it’s _endearing_ as fuck, and maybe it makes Matty’s stomach flutter just a little, but no one’s asking so he’s not admitting to squat shit.

Ryan’s already skating back to the bench, but he glances back one last time.

Matty takes the opportunity to be a good little brother by confidently flipping him off.

 

~

 

“Tough break,” Matty says when Ryan slides into the passenger seat. “It’s definitely Dylan’s fault.”

“Win some, lose some.” Ryan shrugs absently. “Don’t be so hard on him, he didn’t pull one, either.”

Matty bites his lip, turning back out onto the street. “I know. He said he’d call later. Once he’s back at his hotel.”

“Well, we could all use a little cheering up,” Ryan agrees, a little lighter. It’s not like he was brooding but the atmosphere is a pinch less depressing than it had been.

“That’s for sure,” Matty mutters. “And while we’re at it, I think I deserve a reward for _my_ pull.”

Ryan scoffs, smiling now.

“Yeah, alright, I think that can be arranged.”

 

It only takes eighteen minutes to get home, which is Matty’s new record. He holds out a fist for Ryan to bump, and when he doesn’t, punches him in the arm instead.

“What, do you want me to congratulate you for breaking traffic laws?”

Matty grins, “you’re still alive enough to bitch at me, I think that’s a pretty good sign.”

Ryan just sighs.

“Come on, dickhead,” Matty climbs out, hitting the lock button on the door before he shuts it. “Dylan’s blowing up the GC.”

Ryan’s already unlocking the door, ready for the bombardment of hugs from his mom and pleasantries from his dad. He waits patiently while they shift to Matty, who complains that they already saw him this morning.

“Come _on,_ Mom, we just did this. It’s excessive,” Matty whines.

She kisses his forehead one last time, holds his face in her hands and _finally_ lets him go.

“Alright boys, mandatory family brunch is at ten,” she warns them. “Don’t stay up too late. Matthew, I don’t want you to even think about touching the Xbox tonight.”

“I would never,” Matty says, to which Ryan scoffs.

“You too, Ryan. I’m still your mother.”

“I know, Mom. We’ll behave,” he assures her.

“Okay. Your dad and I are headed to bed then,” she says, already heading toward the first floor master. “Good night, boys.”

“Night, Mom,” they dutifully chorus, already marching up the stairs.

 

~

 

“Remind me again why you guys decided to do this in _my_ room?”

“Your bed’s the comfiest,” Matty argues at the pixely, blocky excuse of Dylan’s face. “Also? Turn on your goddamn wifi, you barbarian.”

It’s both a miracle and a tragedy that he can still make out Dylan rolling his eyes.

“I _am_ on wifi. Hotel wifi. It’s the best I can do from the _bathroom,_ Matthew.”

“The bathroom?” Ryan shifts the laptop to the nightstand so he can properly stretch out. There’s a few framed photos -- Dylan and Connor back in Erie, the three of them on Dylan’s draft day, one of Dylan and their mom -- that he has to carefully push aside.

Dylan purses his lips. “Yeah, the bathroom, Ry. Some of us still have road roomies.”

“Kids these days,” Ryan hums, tugging at Matty’s tee shirt until he scoots back enough for Ryan to cuddle him proper.

“Which, by the way,” Dylan says, “can we do this quick? Like, one; I’m hogging the bathroom. Two; Brinksy and D-Rad may or may not be on their way to pick me up like now.”

Matty squints at the screen. “No one’s making you stay on, dipshit. If you’re gonna kill the vibe then hang up and let us fuck around in peace.” He sticks his tongue out, too, just for good measure.

“Unless you’re gonna use that,” Dylan throws back, “you can put it back.”

“Boys, boys,” Ryan interrupts, pulling his shirt off and then tugging at Matty’s. “If we’re doing this on a time crunch, then let’s do it.”

“Yes, Ryan,” they reluctantly say together.

Ryan grins. “Very good, boys. Very, very good.”

Dylan’s also pulling off his shirt. It’s choppy, with the connection and all, but Ryan (and Matty, too, even if we won’t admit it) definitely appreciates the visual.

One look from Ryan has Dylan leaning back against the wall, quickly sucking on his fingers before trailing down him chest. He knows what to do -- well-versed in what Ryan likes to see, what Ryan wants from him -- so Ryan turns his attention to Matty.

He rolls around, kicking at the sheets until he’s hovering over Matty. He starts nice and slow. Tender. Holds his face in one palm tongue gentle but firm. Matty’s not Dylan, he needs it sweet, needs to feel his love, physically reinforcing it.

Meanwhile, Dylan’s on the screen, pinching his nipples to harness, rolling them until they’re pink and pert. Ryan pulls away for a second, ignoring Matty’s whines.

“Shh, Matty, be good for me,” he murmurs. “Dylan, baby, keep going. Harder, okay? And go ahead and take of your pants.” He accentuates his point by tugging down Matty’s waistband. In turn, Matty lifts his hips, compliant, and kicks them off the rest of the way.

“Fuck,” Dylan gasps, “okay… yes, Ry.”

“Ryan,” Matty whines, hands stroking up his abs and chest. Needy, pawing, even. “Ryan, Ryan, come on.”

Laughing, Ryan grabs Matty’s wandering wrists, carefully pulling them up above his head and crossing them. He squeezes once, light but still firm.

“Can you keep those there for me, baby?” Ryan is back at his lips, two chaste kisses, before moving down to Mattys neck. He nuzzles until Matty tilts his head back, stretching out just for Ryan --

“Damn,” says Dylan’s tinny voice through the laptop.

\-- and Dylan, too, apparently.

Ryan side-eyes the screen, never faltering his nipping at Matty’s neck. He’s suckling lightly at the pulse point, not enough to leave a mark, but enough that has Matty gasping, nonetheless.

“Dyl,” Ryan murmurs against Matty’s skin, “are you touching yourself?”

Dylan freezes, and it’s not from his connection, Ryan can tell because the shower is still going in the background.

“I thought you were going to be good today,” Ryan tsks, still lapping at Matty’s pulsepoint. Above him, Matty groans knowingly. It’s obviously directed at Dylan but Ryan lets it slide for now.

“Shut up, Matty,” Dylan mutters, then, “sorry, Ryan.”

“You know better, Dyl,” Ryan chastises him. “You know I’m going to have to punish you.”

“He likes it,” Matty scoffs. Ryan pointedly ignores him, but if he nips a little bit too hard on that one spot that’s just covered by a shirt collar? Oops.

“Yes, Ryan,” Dylan says over them, chin cast downward. It does something for Ryan, who decides it’s time to finally remove his own shorts, cock bouncing upright. Matty spares a glance and his breath noticeably catches in his throat.

Moving down to swirl his tongue around Matty’s nipples -- gently; no teeth, not for Matty -- with hands snaking around to knead at his ass, Ryan makes Dylan wait for a minute. Then, while still close enough for Matty to feel his breath, the faint brushes of his lips, he delivers Dylan’s sentencing.

“One hand behind your back, Dylan. You only get one hand from now on. I want it flat against the small of your back, is that clear?”

“Yes, Ryan,” Dylan exhales, shifting so he can do as he’s told. He’s reaching for the lotion on the counter, but then --

“No, Dyl. That's the rest of your punishment. No lotion, no lube. Just your spit, please.”

Dylan frowns. “But Ryan, I wanna fuck my--”

“Nope,” Ryan denies him, aloof. He takes one of Matty’s nipples in his mouth and sucks, hard. “Lost your chance, kiddo. Besides, we’re on the clock, remember?”

Dylan goes bright red when he does remember where exactly he is. Ryan’s right.

He usually is.

In contrast, Ryan slips his own fingers into his mouth, making sure Matty’s watching when he sucks on them, running his tongue over each one. He uses his other hand to tap Matty’s hip twice until he obediently rolls over, arching his back enticingly.

His wrists are still crossed above his head and it makes Ryan melt into this soft little smile. He kisses his shoulder tenderly while he dips his wets fingers along his crease. “So good, Matty, baby, you’re so good.”

Dylan audibly whimpers from the screen, so Ryan looks over to find him rubbing at his chest, one hand still tucked obediently behind him.

“Yes, Dylan?” Ryan prompts.

He takes a sharp breath through his nose, audible in tinniness. “Ry, Ry, Ry… please.”

“Please, what, Dyl?”

Ryan watches as he swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing thickly.

“Ry, please… can I touch myself now? Please, I’ll be good, okay? I promise.”

Ryan hums, stretched to rummage through the nightstand drawer. He doesn’t say anything until he finds it. It’s Dylan’s half-used tube of lube, of which Ryan dribbles over his fingers, letting the excess dribble down the swell of Matty’s ass.

“Yeah, baby,” Ryan says, “fuck your fist, nice and slow at first.” He pauses to push one finger, slick in excessive lube, easily into Matty, who gasps so sweetly for him.

“Okay… okay, Ry,” Dylan says, breathy,

“Good, Dylan.” Ryan slips the finger all the way in, slowly pulling it out and back in as steadily as he can. “Close your eyes and pretend it’s me, okay? Keep it just a little too dry, just like how I do it.”

Dylan groans, head thrown back. His dick is just barely in the frame, going in and out as he shifts his hips. His left arm is still twisted behind him while his right hand is tight around his dick. On every stroke, he spends a little more time on the tip, letting it catch. It’s not something Dylan would normally do.

But it’s exactly something that _Ryan_ would do.

“Jesus, Dylan,” Ryan swears. “Just like that, baby, you’re fucking wonderful. So Perfect.”

Matty grumbles something unintelligible from beneath him.

“Oh, don’t think I forgot about you, Matts,” Ryan laughs, sliding in the next finger without any warning. Matty practically yelps, then groans his complaints into the mattress. Despite his vocalizations, he pushes back on Ryan’s fingers greedily.

“Come on, Ry,” Matty whines. “Stop fucking around. Please.”

Ryan can’t deny Matty anything, really, so he obliges, sliding in the third, hard and well-aimed.

“Oh, _fucking_ shit,” Marry grits out, gasps crescendoing into weighted pants.

“Pushover,” Dylan grumbles from the screen. Matty turns just the right way to glare at the screen.

“What was that, Dyl?” Ryan hums, rolling his dick into the meaty part of Matty’s thigh. “You say something?”

Dylan kinda smirks, just a little, the corner of his mouth arguably tilted. “No, Ryan, of course not.”

“Mhm,” Ryan suppresses a smile and shakes his head, hair only just starting to fluff out. He times his fingers with his hips, alternating fluidly. Matty moans his appreciation, especially when Ryan shifts the angle of his wrist just slightly, getting him right where he was wants.

“Ry, Ry, Ry,” Matty gasps, “fuck, I’m. _Ryan_. Oh my god, please.”

“You close, baby bro?” Ryan leans over, just enough to get his mouth on Matty’s shoulder.

“Fuck, Ryan,” it’s Dylan now, hushed and breathless. “Me too, Ry. Please, please, please.”

Ryan shoots a hard look at the screen. “Dylan, look at me.” He waits until he does. “You’re not coming until both me and Matty have, got it?”

“But Ryan--”

“No, Dylan,” Ryan stands his ground. He watches Dylan’s face fall in exasperation, melting into his his too-familiar pout. Yeah, nice try, kid.

“Yes, Ryan,” he sighs, accepting his fate.

So Ryan turns back to Matty, who’s patiently kept quiet and still for him while he’d been sorting Dylan out. Matty, who’s been so good, so sweet for him.

“Alright, baby,” Ryan murmurs, right into his ear. “Can you come for me?”

Ryan thrusts his fingers in and out, firm but not too hard, just how Matty likes. It’s a combination of calculated aim and practiced muscle-memory. Ryan uses his other hand to reach under him, gripping Matty’s dick. He slicks his hand up just enough with the precum dribbling at the tip, vigorously pumping him in time with his fingers.

“Ryan, Ryan, oh my god, Ryan,” Matty chants, eyes screwed shut an fists clenching where they lie above his head.

“Come on, baby, you’re doing so good. Come for me, please, Matty. Come on.”

And like that, Matty does, gasping as he spills his cum all over the sheets. _Dylan’s_ sheets.

“Fuck,” says Dylan, eyes wide. He’s still pumping himself hard, but still holding back. He pauses longer to play with his tip, thumbing at the slit and smearing precum all over himself.

Ryan squeezes Matty’s wrists once, to let him know he can move whenever he’s ready. He doesn’t, not yet, still catching his breath.

In the meantime, Ryan sits up, then kneels. He keeps his other hand on Matty’s hip, rubbing circles with his thumb over the jut of bone there.  He dips his hand in the pool of Matty’s cum and uses it to pump himself, fist tight. Twisting his wrist just the right way on the upstroke, he groans, gravelly and rough.

“Get ready, Dyl, baby,” Ryan pants. “You gonna be a good boy and come for me, yeah?”

Dylan huffs, wrist quickening to match time with Ryan. “I’m good, Ryan, I swear, I’m good.”

“Wait for me, baby. Then it’s all you.”

Ryan pumps a couple more times and then he swallowing down a shout, gritting out a tight groan instead. He spills over Matty, striping his back and coating his ass like a piece of fucking art.

Before Ryan can fully come back to himself, Dylan’s cursing over the audio, thrusting his hips at full force to meet his fist. He comes then, chanting a mixed mantra of “Ryan” and “fuck” that blends together. It covers his chest and stomach so nicely. It takes Ryan’s breath away.

“Damn,” mumbles Matty, still riding his high.

It’s quiet for a moment, the sound of Dylan’s shower still running filling the room. He breaks first, saking out his left arm.

“You guys better change my fucking sheets.”

Matty laughs, throwing and arm out to wave it noncommittally. Dylan rolls his eyes, then looks to Ryan, who laughs and nods, promising to clean up after themselves. Boy scout honor!

Ryan grabs the laptop and scoots up the bed so he can sit up against the headboard, balancing the computer on his lap. He nudges at Matty until he rolls around enough to get his head on Ryan’s chest.

“How’re you feeling, Dyl? Good?” Ryan prompts.

“Yeah, of course,” Dylan grins. “I feel great.”

“Same,” Matty chimes in, sleepily. Ryan absently pets his head.

“Good,” Ryan smiles, warm. “Okay, then I want you to shower off real quick and go meet your friends. They’ve probably been waiting.”

Dylan goes a fresh wave of red, reaching the tips of his ears. “Yes, Ryan,” he mumbles.

“Text me status updates throughout the night, okay? Stay safe. Make good choices.”

“Relax, big bro,” Dylan laughs, “we’re not going wild tonight. It’s Sunday.”

“Still,” Ryan insists. So Dylan nods and assures him he’ll be smart and safe.

“Alright, then. I love you guys. And I’m proud of you, Matty, good win today,” Dylan adds. Matty hums something of a thanks. “I’ll talk to you guys later?”

“Oh, we’re definitely facetiming you during ‘mandatory family brunch’ tomorrow,” Ryan grins.

“Oh boy,” Dylan groans. “Sounds good, then. Night, boys.”

“Night, Dyl. Love you.”

“Love you! Byeee.” Dylan grins into the camera one more time before he taps the screen, ending the call and leaving them with the blank Facetime menu. Ryan shuts it closed and slides it back onto the nightstand.

“So _you’re_ changing the sheets, right?” Matty mumbles, maybe cuddling up closer to Ryan and maybe wrapping an arm around him.

Ryan rolls his eyes. And maybe pulls him closer.

  
  
  
  
  


**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [use your hands (and my spare time)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14484921) by [stonesnuggler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonesnuggler/pseuds/stonesnuggler)




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